


One on One

by WhisperOfTheDay



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Five Stages of Grief, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Rating for Language, Self-Hatred, deeply sorry, the author is sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperOfTheDay/pseuds/WhisperOfTheDay
Summary: Reset the clock.





	One on One

The only sound in the Shatterdome K-science lab is of chalk hitting the blackboard.  
  
  
Hermann does succeed in drowning out the soul crushing quiet of their work space- muttering  equations aloud, grumbling his opinion on the newest order, ~~humming the song stuck in his head since three days ago when that ignoramus wouldn't turn it off for hours~~ , the fact that he's the only resident of the room for once beneficial. Some time ago he even learned to force himself to enjoy this newfound peace.  
  
He also knows this state is delusory and short-lived. And, being honest, the sheer amount of willpower he pours into being okay feels like betrayal, settling as a heavy stone in his stomach and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
All those things keep being dismissed as absurd and distracting. But it's not like they disappear.  
  
He's trying to trick his own mind, which rarely - if ever- works. Its insistent whispers are impossible to silence.  
  
  
He was once all about control and order, but now thoughts scatter around the second he looses concentration.  
  
This maddening, goddamn voice- ‘embodiment’ of despair and elementary deduction- insists that they have little chance of living through this. Gottlieb is no delusional, ignorant optimist; he relies fully on calculations, estimations, laws of physics, mathematics and science.  
  
However that voice never used to get this loud and overpowering.  
  
Whenever he lets himself shut down for a second, it instantly reminds him:  
  
_The double event has just hit Hong Kong; two Jaegers and two crews were lost, and who knows how many civilians died during the attack; 'Pitfall' is still to be attempted, but if it fails, the number of beasts coming out at a time will keep rising exponentially, and with the next few waves the humanity is done for._  
  
The world is breaking apart under their feet, and single human losses have long stopped being counted in the universal struggle to save the race.  
  
  
No time to celebrate, no time to grieve, reset the clock.

They all learned to live by this rule.

  
  
Hermann had been concerned for those playing a foremost role in this fight, for their souls were being corrupted. And yes, he feared for his own, too.

Until he could no longer spare something like that a thought.  
  
  
However, he kept believing in PPDC, in 'TOGETHER WE CAN END THIS WAR', in Jaeger pilots, in Pentecost; in all the tech he helped create, in old knowledge and in new, utterly foreign science they discovered and apperceived and learned to use; believed in himself, actually dared to admit (to nobody but himself, of course) that he believed in his lab partner in equal measure.  
  
Even after all that was left of K-sci department was them, he still kept that faith.  
  
  
Now it's fading away. He is fading away, unnecessarily poetic as it is. The flicker of hope succumbed to the dark and cold truths. Frustration and ire fill its place; emotions so intense- dark dots dance in front of his eyes (or maybe it's lack of nutrition and rest). He supplies them, relying on them to cover up other, uglier, dreadful ones manifesting in his traitorous mind.  
  
  
Because there's no one to annoy him by trying in vain to raise his spirit.  
  
  
Hermann hates it when thoughts like break through the newly built, slimsy Wall of false anger and resolve. With them the reality that is the silence of this room comes crushing down all over again, and he doesn't have time to deal with the mess his brain has actually become. The world won't wait for him to pull himself together. Nobody cares that the guilt is tearing his heart apart. Nobody even knows. Nobody will ever know _. Because there's nothing to tell, and there is no one to blame. Newton wa_ _s an imbecile he did this to himself and dared to-_  
  
Memories of the past few days strike at his Wall, and it cracks. Again.  
  
_You can't deal with anything. Sentimental fool. Useless. Pathetic._  
  
_Not yet. Not yet. It will get easier. It will._ Breathe.  
  
_If I live long enough for it to._  
  
_And I won't. Nobody will._  
  
  
  
  
  
And he can do nothing to resist the images before his eyes, the pain in his chest, as it pulls him under.

* * *

  
  
(In one of those moments when he desperately needed a distraction, he let himself wonder about the original Kübler-Ross model, how invalid and inconsistent it appeared to be upon further testing, and how amusing and miserable it was that his state seemed to be progressing in perfect accordance with it.)

* * *

  
  
  
He found Newton seizing on the floor, skin pale, nose bleeding, with that damned thing on his head still firing electrical pulses. Panic was pushed aside in favour of elaborate action. But not for long, as, once he turned the machine off and tossed the headpiece away, Newton slowly went slack. His chest wasn't moving, his arm was cold. The streak of blood had long dried out.  
  
Hermann's brain seemed to refuse to acknowledge the obvious, but on autopilot, he put his ~~trembling~~ hand on Newt's neck, and held it there for what probably was 5 minutes, but felt like much longer, as the realisation that the pulse wouldn't appear creeped into the scientist's usually clear and objective but then suddenly unresponsive mind.  
  
  
He would later halfheartedly scold himself for not trying to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation, and reason with himself that _there would have been no use_ and _your hands are too weak_ and _he was dead long before you came._  
  
_There's nothing you could've done to change it._

  
_You know this. _

  
  
  
He remembers sitting back and just staring at the blurry image of his colleague's pale face, unable to look away, paralyzed, the throbbing pain in his leg and spine as a metronome to the noise of his thoughts, running in circles inside his mind- no longer frozen, but not yet in the present.  
  
_Oh mein Gott_  
  
_er ist weg er ist tot_  
  
_he's dead there's nothing you can do he's dead he's gone he killed himself he oh my god no no_  
  
_oh my god_  
  
  
  
"Newton died," he would later tell the Marshal in a low, even, carefully guided voice, fully aware of the reality of those words, but not letting himself think past them.  
  
"He built a Pons and connected himself to Mutavore's brain sample, and the neural overload was fatal," he would continue, that mask of indifference that became his default expression over the lifetime making it so easy to not feel a thing. It always took a considerable amount of effort to put the facade on again, with 5 years of it being consistently and deliberately shattered, ignored, poked fun at, but he managed.  
  
The last thing he cared about was others thinking of him as of cold and uncaring. His childhood taught him to pay no mind to people's opinion of him. He had learned to ignore the intrusive worries and anxiety too.  
  
Not displaying and ignoring was one thing. Being left one on one with your thoughts was another.  
  
‘The Wall of Life’ could withstand the crushing pressure of a monstrosity for so long before it crumbled.  
  
  
  
He found that was furious beyond belief. Beyond ever translating into words or pouring into action. It was crushing in a sense he couldn't comprehend nor fence off and so he kept repeating that it would fade.  
  
And so the chalk kept flying across the room.  
  
He found that it was better than becoming numb, overcome with grief, becoming _worthless._  
  
So he kept on working. Leaving every procedure needed to be done following an employee's demise to Stacker, where it belonged.  
  
It was probably done too hurriedly, or worse- left to be attended to afterwards. Whatever the case, Gottlieb highly doubted he would've been the right man for the job. He was _sure_ he wasn't. Neither of them ever had good social skills.. He wouldn't have been able to ease the blow to Newton's parents, let alone his uncle, either.  
  
He had work that needed to be done. In the evening of that day he was already in that lifeless lab. The sense of it all being pointless overwhelmed him more and more with every hit of the chalk, with every push of a keyboard button.  
He hated himself for it, for letting the hopelessness creep in, the despair show its ugly head, the grief steering his thoughts into dark and miserable places.  
  
The seconds when he didn't know what to do grew more frequent.  
  
He was alone.  
  
_Isn't it what you wanted?_  
  
The chalk kept being thrown at the specimen tanks that no one had time nor resources to remove and dispose of just yet.  
  
_Doesn't matter, it will all be over very soon_ the calculations on the desk would say, and the obnoxious voice would echo. _Because tomorrow a double event is to occure just as I said and_  
  
_how am I to help save the goddamn world when I'm like this, Newton?_  
  
_you were supposed to play a part in this, and not-_  
  
_you reckless stupid imbecile. you should have-_  
  
_~~you may have doomed us all~~_  
  
_it wasn't meant to be like this_  
  
  
  
  
  
Not a day later, just as he finally succeed in making himself believe not everything was lost, that they could still finish this, that it wasn’t something that will bring him down, not after everything he overcame, after all the betrayals and years of work and ups and downs… his Wall received its final blow. What composure was left of him, every snipped of self-control he had- became broken beyond repair.  
  
  
  
Every blame he ever shifted off his shoulders so that he could walk straight fell back with a shattering force, making sure he never got up.  
  
  
  
  
Hermann had destroyed the recorder the second the tape ended, sprained his shoulder throwing it against the chalkboard, screaming and cursing and crying in a fit of pure rage and anguish.  
  
_you son of a bitch i hate you i hate you i hate you arrogant reckless cretin egoistic verdammt rindvieh scheiße wie konntest du wie kannst du es wagen ich hasse dich why did you do this how could you why why did you do this_  
  
No matter how much he splattered and cursed the Earth and the Kaiju and Newton's name and himself, he couldn't stop the hole in his chest from growing larger with every intake of breath.  
  
The images of every possible future he had been keeping out spilled into his mind. Of what would happen to his family if they won, of what if they did not. Of what would happen to him.  
  
  
And in the hour (or less, or two, he couldn't tell anymore) that he sat there hunched over his table, scrambling to piece himself together, that voice whispered to him so many things. How, with the rate they were going, chances that he'll see his wife and parents and siblings were  
  
close to zero  
  
  
How he would never be there to name their child  
How he didn’t deserve such a life, such a fate  
How he didn't work hard enough to assist the Corps  
How he did wrong not leaving with his father, because maybe he would have made a difference there  
Should’ve stayed together, on the same side  
  
All because he was arrogant  
self-assured  
ru _de_  
_egoistic_

 _f_ _oolish_

  
About how wrong he was, about how it _was your doing, your fault and yours only I'm sorry I'm sorry it's not my fault that it happened he brought it upon himself **how dare you** blame him for **your** stupidity and arrogance you didn't listen to him you never listen you doomed both of you and everybody you care about no it's ridiculous I hate you shut up shut **UP**_  
  
  
  
  
_-Unscientific aside-_  
  
  
  
_-Hermann-_

 

  
  
  
He wakes up from the involuntary overview of the waking nightmare that were the past few days, leaning on his desk with both hands, head hanging, knees shaking, cane God knows where, with no remembrance of how he got there, but thankful for his body not leaving him to lie on the cold concrete.  
  
  
_-if you're listening to this-_  
  
  
The papers below are soaking wet.  
  
He can't find the strength to stand upright.

  
Everything hurts.

  
_-then I'm either alive, and I've proven what I've just done works-_

  
  
Those last words are engraved in his mind, articulate and clear as day, like cuts on the surface of his brain through which blood is pouring into his scull, disabling him from functioning the way he should.

  
_-in which case Ha-Ha! I won-_

  
The tone and intonation, the little snickers and the trembling of the fucking asshole's voice, the things Hermann knows are to be forgotten with time, if he’s lucky enough to live for another few years.

  
_-or I'm dead-_

  
(The more he thinks about it, the more he realises, not without shame and self-loathing, that he can no longer call it luck.)  
  
  
  
But the words themselves are doomed to be carried to the grave, through every night and every day for the rest of his life.  
  
  
  
  
_-and I’d like you to know that it's all your fault-_  
  
  
  
_-it really is, you know-_  
  
  
  
_-you drove me to this-_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The only sound in the K-science lab is the sound of mourning.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_~~-in which case, ha, I also won...-~~_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_~~-sort of...~~_

**Author's Note:**

> This is a world where apocalypse is not cancelled and everybody dies.
> 
> \----------------------------
> 
> I love pain. And I love inflicting it upon others.
> 
> Newt was a jerk, saying what he did back then. What if he did die? What then?  
> As you see, I've been thinking about it for too long and this awful monstrosity happened.  
> Of course, the first fic I post upon entering a new fandom gotta be under 'Character Death' warning.
> 
> If you find that this work lacks some tags, please let me know, I'll fix it right away!  
> Any kind of feedback is deeply appreciated. ♡ Please, feel free to comment, it'd be great to know what you think, as I'm not sure about how well this fic came out.  
> Thank you for reading! And... sorry again.


End file.
